Release
by AlkalineTeegan
Summary: Tag to "Obsession." What was said in the basement? What happened with Dana? Spoilers for the episode.


Tony drank, gathering courage, while Gibbs sanded, gathering words and patience—he figured he would need extra of both to deal with Tony in a state like this. Gibbs had long ago found that he was better off providing only the occasional prompts and letting Tony do most the talking—most of the time.

That these were their natural roles only made those times that much easier. Gibbs knew he was often little more than a sounding board for Tony's musings, but he didn't mind because he knew the gift he was being given at being invited into the younger man's usually guarded headspace.

"I just don't get it," Tony finally said, tapping the glass against his open palm and watching the amber liquid slosh around inside. He only wished his thoughts could be as neat as the drink in his hand.

"Simple greed," Gibbs said, blowing a puff of air at the beam and sending sawdust flying. "Nothing new," he added when Tony didn't respond.

Gibbs turned to where Tony had settled at the bottom of the basement stairs, and Gibbs realized he'd lasted only a few minutes before retreating from his earlier proximity.

"But that's not what you meant," Gibbs said, realizing.

Tony smiled tiredly, and Gibbs realized too just how late it was as he waited patiently for Tony to speak. But the younger agent just took a slow sip and winced at the burn.

Gibbs cracked a smile and nodded at the barely touched alcohol. "You want something else?"

Tony shook his head, raising his eyes from the jar to Gibbs' face. "You know me and alcohol. I don't really drink."

Gibbs nodded and turned back to the wood, thinking, _Because you like control too much. _He ran a hand down the beam. _Alcohol strips inhibitions and you need control like this plank needs a planer. _

They were silent a while, and Gibbs wondered if this would be one of those times he would have to pry the words from his agent.

But then Tony said again, "I just don't get it." He got up and moved to the corner of the room, as far as was physically possible to get away from Gibbs. He was facing the tools hanging on the wall, and Gibbs knew he was about to admit something he didn't really want to—but needed to.

"I was channel-surfing one night a while back, and it was like my finger stopped itself on the remote even before my brain processed her face. I stared for the entire segment—and then some. I can't even tell you what she was talking about, but I remember her face. The way I felt like I already knew her. The way her nose wrinkled when she laughed. But it was all some weird illusion." He shook his head. "I didn't even know her, and she died holding my hand tonight."

Tony looked down at his hand and brushed it against his pants, inexplicably smelling death and needing desperately to be rid of the odor.

Gibbs watched him, waiting. He saw the shocking, if fleeting, sheen of tears in Tony's eyes and decided to toss him a lifeline before he drowned in his own head. He knew from experience that losing Tony inside himself this early on would only end badly, usually with something involving a long silence, which he didn't mind, and something like alcohol poisoning, which he did mind.

"You really don't see it?" Gibbs asked without his usual heavy sarcasm or bite.

Tony turned sharply anyway. "See what?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice.

But Gibbs just asked softly, ever the teacher, "She doesn't remind you of anyone?"

Tony looked lost, the sudden anger gone, leaving only confusion in its wake.

"Trade the blonde hair for brown?" Gibbs prompted. He debated for only a half-second, knowing he wasn't wrong. "Give her a French name?"

The glass slipped from Tony's suddenly trembling hand, and he half-set, half-dropped it onto the workbench with a solid _thunk_. "Oh," was all he said.

"Yeah," Gibbs said, nodding and hoping Tony would start breathing again soon. "Oh."

Tony breathed deeply and turned back to the wall, plucking an awl from the pegboard and balancing the tool on his finger. He stopped when he realized he was shaking too hard to keep it there. He turned again, feeling Gibbs' eyes burning into his back, but Gibbs was focused on the beam when Tony tried to meet his eyes.

"At least I never lied to Dana," Tony said softly. He laughed bitterly. "Except that's not true. I did lie to her."

Gibbs ran an appraising eye down the plank again, not bothering to ask what Tony had lied about. He knew Tony lied as easily as most people breathed, and Gibbs wondered which of the tiny falsities he told every day to protect himself was bothering him.

"When I called her, I told her I could help her," Tony said, his words slightly choked with bitterness and regret.

"Hey," Gibbs said firmly, watching Tony tap his finger absently on the sharp point of the tool in his hand. "First, put that down before you bleed all over it. And second—"

"Don't," Tony said, the defiance in his tone contrasting sharply with his automatic obedience in putting down the awl. "I know what you're going to say."

Gibbs eyed him, knowing he probably did. "And you think I would lie to you?" he asked, putting down the sandpaper and taking a step toward his agent. He watched Tony try to back away even though there was nowhere for him to go with his back already against the workbench, and Gibbs wondered if it was from his own movements or his words. Tony could deal with people in his space when he had his defenses firmly up; it was another matter entirely when he felt open and exposed. Gibbs was reminded of a stray cat: perfectly willing to get a scratch behind the ears but never feeling safe enough to show his belly.

"No," Tony said softly, plucking his drink from the bench and taking a healthy swallow. He played the jar between tremulous hands. "And I guess we did help her. We got the bad guy, but…"

"But you couldn't save her," Gibbs said, his laser gaze seeing straight through Tony's defenses.

"Nope," Tony said, trying not to squirm. _I could never save any of them._

"Neither could I," Gibbs said, studying the forced blankness on Tony's face. "Neither could Ziva… or McGee… or the doctors."

Tony's mask slipped briefly, displaying the anguish underneath for only a second before he stripped the emotion from his face and forced his tone into nothingness. "I could have…" He waved a hand, unsure what he could have done.

"You did," Gibbs said softly, sympathy in his eyes as he turned back to the beam and gave Tony some breathing room. He knew that cornering a stray only made it want to run.

"No, I—"

"Yes, DiNozzo, you did," Gibbs said firmly. "You said she died holding your hand. Why was that?"

Tony shook his head, confused. "She was scared… And I wanted…"

"No, Tony," Gibbs said, his attention expertly divided between the wood and his friend. "Why was it _your_ hand that she was holding?"

Tony closed his eyes and breathed slowly, carefully, reminding Gibbs of an incident involving broken ribs even though he knew tonight's was a very different kind of pain.

"She didn't have anyone," Tony finally said, trying not to think about how true that statement was for himself, as well.

"And yet she didn't die alone," Gibbs observed.

Tony smiled and Gibbs almost winced even before Tony said bitterly, "Yeah, she had me. The stalkerish federal agent who couldn't keep her safe. I'm surprised she didn't throw me out and tell me she'd see me in hell."

Gibbs breathed slowly, twice, to clear the anger from his tone. "Easy," he warned before cracking a smile. "That's my friend you're talking about."

Tony just stared, his expression mournful as he fought not to react to Gibbs' having apparently read his mind—or his attempt to allay his deeply rooted fears of dying alone.

"She wasn't completely alone," Tony said dismissively, almost defensively. "She wrote a letter to an aunt. In Kansas. And yes I made the obvious 'Auntie Em' joke."

Gibbs smiled but saw Tony's face crumble for a half-second before he viciously scrubbed a hand across it as if to obliterate the emotion.

"She laughed," Tony said, his voice tight. He shook his head and smiled a sad little parody of a smile. "I finally find someone to laugh at my stupid movie jokes and she's dead within the hour."

Gibbs did wince at that, at the pain in his words, and he wondered just how horrible an experience Tony had put himself through for a stranger. He noted the empty glass in Tony's hand and wasn't surprised when he continued unprompted.

"Jeanne laughed at my jokes," he said, turning away again. He paused for a long moment. "I can't believe I didn't see the resemblance."

"Ducky could probably talk all day about why you didn't—"

"Ducky could talk all day about the life cycles of pet rocks," Tony interrupted wryly.

Gibbs smiled. "But I don't think you wanted to see it."

"Mmmm," Tony murmured, noncommittal.

Gibbs just waited.

"Is this where you tell me that I wanted a second chance with Jeanne and tried to use Dana to get it?" Tony asked, his tone giving away nothing. "That I stayed away from her, gathering information about her and trying to figure out who she was before I fell in love with her, only to lose her and get hurt again?"

Tony stopped and blushed bright red when he realized what he'd admitted by adding "again."

But Gibbs just approached him—cautiously, it seemed—and refilled his glass.

"I know Jeanne hurt you," Gibbs said once his back was turned again.

Tony snorted. "I think you've got that backwards."

Gibbs turned back, raising a silver eyebrow. "She accused you of murder."

"Well, I did kill someone," Tony said darkly.

"She was still breathing the last time I saw her," Gibbs returned evenly.

"Yeah? How was her heart?"

Tony held up his hands and shook his head. "Never mind. Not your problem. Or even mine… anymore."

Gibbs watched him stare at his hands, watched him rubbing his left against his pants again and could practically see him in the hospital room holding Dana's. He imagined Tony being funny and charming to ease the woman's fears and hide his own anguish. He wondered if Tony had been able to shuck his mask, even for a dying stranger.

"Why did you do it?" Gibbs asked suddenly. Seeing the uncertainty in the green eyes watching him, he clarified, "Dana. Not Jeanne."

Tony flinched at the dead woman's name—and again internally when Gibbs saw it, his eyes softening with sympathy. Tony forced himself not to turn away. "She didn't have anyone else."

Gibbs thought about letting it go at that. But knowing how long it had taken him to get over Jeanne—if he was even over her, would ever be—Gibbs asked, "But why you? I overheard Abby tell you she would go."

Tony blinked at that before smiling ruefully. "Did you hear my answer?"

Gibbs nodded. "It was a BS answer," he said, studying Tony's sad, tired eyes. "To keep Abby from feeling what you're feeling now."

Tony didn't speak for a moment, wondering if he hated his boss's perception or was grateful for it. "She'd be feeling worse," he finally said. "You know how she takes everything to heart. She'd blame herself even though there's nothing she could do."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "And you don't?"

"Blame myself?"

Gibbs lifted a shoulder. "Both."

Tony just shook his head. "She didn't need to go through that."

"And you did?" Gibbs asked, unrelenting.

Tony finally turned away, muttering, "I can handle it." He looked down at the drink in his hand and almost laughed. _With a little liquid assistance, at least. _He suddenly felt like pouring out the entire wretched night to Gibbs, and he set the glass down, glaring at it like it was the enemy.

"I know," Gibbs agreed. "But you could have done it together. Shared the load."

Tony turned back, incredulous. "And rubbed our relationship in the face of a woman dying alone?"

Gibbs blinked. He hadn't thought of it that way, but he wasn't surprised Tony had. "You told her you were just as alone as she was," he said, not asking.

"I am alone," Tony said, running a hand along the workbench as he made his way to the stairs. "Thanks for the drink."

"Hey," Gibbs barked.

"What?" Tony asked, turning sullenly on the landing and looking slightly down at Gibbs' sparking blue eyes.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Home," Tony answered, even though he stayed planted on the stairs. The challenge was in his eyes.

Gibbs' gaze flicked to the half-empty jar on the workbench before settling back on his agent's exhausted face.

"I'm not drunk," Tony said, annoyed that he had let himself get even close enough to warrant Gibbs' worry. "You can give me a field sobriety test if you want."

"You were a cop, DiNozzo. You could probably pass one unconscious."

Tony didn't smile. He just studied his boss before asking, "You really worried I'm going to go splatter my guts across the pavement or are you just not done picking apart my screwed-up motives for going there tonight?"

"Tony," Gibbs said, his tone giving away nothing.

"What?"

"_You_ came _here _tonight."

Tony blinked in surprise, then shrugged. "I always come to you when I'm…"

_Upset, angry, hurt, confused, conflicted… all of the above._

Tony said none of those things.

But he didn't need to.

Gibbs just asked softly, "So why are you still thinking it could have been you lying there, dying alone?"

Tony looked at the floor, the workbench, the tools on the pegboard—anywhere but at the steadiness in Gibbs' blue eyes that was so wholly at odds with the roiling in Tony's head. _Is it really that simple?_

He sank down onto the step, letting his head rest against the railing. He sat there for a long time, eyes closed, listening to the soothing rasp of the planer on the beam and wondering how Gibbs knew just the right things to say to smooth the rough edges off of _him._

_Dana was laughing at his "Auntie Em" joke, but he could see the fear in her eyes, the way she had to breathe deeply just to get enough air to sustain her rapidly weakening body. Tony fought the memories of his own time spent in a hospital bed just trying to breathe. _

"_What?" Dana asked, watching him chew his lip and wondering again why this man she barely knew was putting himself through this hell with her. _

_He smiled, and she almost bought it—almost. "Come on," she said, giving him a brave smile. "You can tell me anything. And I won't tell a soul."_

_He kept his smile frozen in place even while he wanted to cry, to tell her how amazing she was that she could smile and joke even knowing the end was near. _

"_I was remembering the first time I saw the Wizard of Oz," he lied easily, oddly hoping she would forgive him even though he knew she'd never know. "It was one of the first color motion pictures, and I always wonder what it was like for people seeing something like that for the first time. I was captivated. But then I had some snooty professor ruin it all by going on and on about how it was all one giant allegory."_

"_Ah," Dana said, nodding. "Dorothy as the naïve American citizens, walking in her silver slippers down the path of gold to the silly world of greenbacks in Emerald City."_

_Tony smiled genuinely. "Silver slippers," he scoffed. "I thought the ruby ones were much better."_

_Dana's smile slipped, her eyes going troubled even as she lifted a seemingly casual shoulder. "It's tough realizing the world isn't what you thought it was."_

_Tony winced, wracking his brain for a response to that. _

_But then Dana smiled softly. "Screw the silver slippers," she said, breathing deeply again. "It's way more fun to freeze-frame and watch for the hanging man in the background."_

_Tony watched her for a second before asking, "You've done that?"_

_She laughed again, the musical sound wrapping greedy fists of pain around his heart. He pulled out his best undercover skills and forced himself not to let his anguish show. _

"_Actually, no," she said, her eyes going soft suddenly. "Never got around to it."_

_A tear rolled slowly down her cheek and her breathing picked up until she was gasping in a full-on panic. Tony moved quickly, sliding behind her to prop up her weakening body and grabbing for the call button. He stopped when he felt her trembling hand settle on the back of his wrist. _

"_Don't," she gasped, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm okay. I just freaked out for a minute there. I'm fine."_

_Tony still wanted to call a nurse, but also didn't want to upset her. He held her close, feeling her breathing return to something more normal. _

"_Wanna know a secret?" he said softly against her hair, breathing deeply himself in an attempt to memorize its scent. But all he could smell was hospital._

"_Sure," she said, knowing she should pull out of this stranger's embrace but unable to make herself shove away his readily offered comfort._

"_The hanging man? It's a myth."_

_She did pull back, slightly. She eyed him. "Really?"_

_He nodded, looking down into her eyes and wishing with the fervor of a child that things could be different. "It's a bird. No really. They were shooting indoors, but to make it _look_ more outdoorsy, they let a bunch of birds wander around. Big birds. Not like big yellow birds with orange legs and personal boundary issues. But like emus and such."_

"_Huh," she said, smiling again and settling back against his warmth. "Now I'm really glad I didn't waste my time looking for a damned emu."_

_He laughed softly, and she could feel the rumble of it where her cheek rested against his chest. She took a slow, shuddering breath and tried not to think about all the things she had wasted her life on, all the things she would never get to do. She had an odd flash of a vision of herself in a different hospital room, snuggled against his man while she held their newborn baby, and she had to shake herself to rid the silly, heart-wrenching thought._

"_Hmmmm?" he murmured, feeling her shaking and wondering if she was just cold or if her thoughts had led to the trembling. He purposefully blocked all of the morbidity that had paraded through his own head during those gasping hours under harsh blue lights. _

"_I just," she started, realizing she had no reason to shield her thoughts from this stranger who was so willingly suffering along with her. "I was just thinking about all of the ways I've wasted my time."_

_His gut twisted at her soft admission, but he held his voice steady. "From what little I know about you, Dana, you haven't wasted a second." He felt her sigh against him, her breath warming his skin through the thin material of his dress shirt. "You've been all over the world, done things that most people only dream about."_

_She did not speak. _

"_I know you're young. Too young for this," he said, wincing at his stupidity and wondering why he thought he of all people should be consoling a dying woman. "But you packed more living into your years than most people put into a lifetime."_

_She had no idea what to say to that, but she also knew it was true and was glad for the reminder. That he seemed to know about her career made her say, "You know more about me than I do about you."_

_He swallowed his guilt at his stalkerish obsession and said, "You've spent a lot of your life on TV. No one cares about NCIS agents."_

"_I doubt that," she said, then continued before he could think about it. "It's good to know someone was following my career. Nice to know someone was interested in what I was doing."_

_Tony nodded. "Of course. You went interesting places. A lot of people were watching." He paused for a moment. "Not to mention you're kind of hot."_

_She pulled back and he thought he had been too forward, but she just smiled. "Only kind of hot?"_

_He flashed her his most charming smile. "Smokin'."_

_She smiled back, fighting the sudden exhaustion—and what she knew it would bring. "Too bad we didn't have more time," she said, flirtatious. She winked at him. "I bet we could find a nice, romantic, private… broom closet or something."_

_He grinned, marveling at her fiestiness, her spirit, her refusal to back down to what he knew was nearly overwhelming fear. "I like the way you think, Dana."_

"_I like the way you say my name," she said dreamily, nestling against him once again and feeling his arms tighten fractionally around her suddenly shaking body._

_Tony heard the faraway quality in her voice, felt her quaking and reached for the call button. No sooner had he pushed it, she started convulsing in his arms. His heart leapt to his throat as he eased her down and ran to the door, putting an authority in his voice that he rarely used as he called for help. Medical personnel flooded the room, and he found himself pushed against a wall, watching helplessly as she flailed like a fish caught on the end of a cruel line._

_A nurse injected a clear fluid into an IV, and Dana's body stilled so suddenly it made Tony's heart stutter. Another nurse seemed to notice his presence, and she laid a gentle hand on his arm. _

"_She had a seizure," the older woman said, her clear blue eyes watching him with sympathy. "The medication stopped it, but it could happen again if we don't keep her medicated. She'll probably be pretty out of it."_

"_No," came a weak cry from the bed. _

_Tony turned to see Dana struggling to sit up and he moved to her side. "Easy."_

"_No," she said, more forceful. "I know I don't have much time left, and I don't want to spend my last hours drugged out of my mind."_

_The kind nurse approached, her eyes more on Tony than Dana and he realized she thought they were either married or family. _

"_I know you don't," she said kindly, gently, before delivering the ugly truth in way that only those used to dealing in death could, "but you also don't want to spend those last hours seizing either."_

_The nurse's eyes flicked to Tony briefly and he almost got up and slapped the kind old woman. He didn't want Dana making decisions about her last hours based on _his_ comfort. _

"_It's your decision, Dana," he said, touching her hand. _

_She looked up at him with wide eyes, and he forced himself not to look away from her stark terror. "Will you stay?" she asked, drawing an odd look from the nurse. "Even if I'm all zonked out? Please? I know I have no right to ask you, but will you stay with me?"_

_He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he watched her bravely fight tears. "I'll stay."_

_Dana nodded to the nurse and watched while she injected the medication into the IV. The room cleared and they were alone again, Tony staring down at their overlapping hands. He looked up to find Dana staring intensely at him. _

"_Why?" she whispered, sounding so sleepy he had the ridiculous urge to go get her some coffee. "Why are you here? Putting yourself through this, for me?"_

_He reached out and sandwiched her cold, trembling hand between his warm ones. "I almost died a few years ago," he said, hating himself because his story had a happy ending—at least a better one than hers. "Long story short, a crazy lady was mad at NCIS and send a letter laced with plague that I stupidly opened."_

_Her eyes went wide. "Plague? As in bubonic plague from the Middle Ages?"_

_He lifted a shoulder. "Pneumonic, but yeah, that plague."_

_She took a shuddering breath and her eyes jerked up to his as she put a hand to her chest, feeling oddly relieved she'd fought tooth and nail to be able to die in her own comfy pajamas instead of some horrid hospital gown. "So you know," she said, pausing to take a harsh breath, "exactly what all this feels like?"_

_He nodded, wishing he didn't—wishing _she_ didn't. _

"_Wow," she said, blinking tiredly. _

_They were silent for a long while, and Tony was glad for her hand between his because he could feel her pulse against his thumb. It was the only way he knew she was still alive. There would be no shrieking heart monitors, he knew, because she hadn't wanted them. He shrugged off the silly idea that it was for his benefit. _

_He jumped when she spoke, nearly an hour later, her voice whisper-soft and far away. "I wish I had been there," she said, the powerful drugs making her sound dreamy again. _

_He thought furiously about what they had been talking about and nodded, saying, "Yeah, the plague. Would've been a hell of a story."_

_Her eyes came open again, the serenity and defiant spark of life in them nearly taking his breath. "No, Tony," she whispered. "I wish I had been there so you wouldn't have been alone."_

_He had no words so he just held her eyes and stroked her hand. _

"_Thank you," she whispered, her eyes drifting shut again as she floated in her drugged haze. "You'll be here when I wake up?"_

"_Yeah," he said thickly. "I'll be here."_

_He breathed through the squeezing pain in his chest as he felt her pulse slow like a clock that needed winding. But he knew there was nothing that could save her, there would be no turning back the hands of time to rescue her. So he just held her hand, feeling her pulse finally flutter and slowly fade away._

Gibbs nudged him out of his half-sleep a long while later, and Tony almost groaned at the stiffness in his limbs from sitting unmoving for so long.

"Come on, up," Gibbs urged, the order soft but an order nonetheless.

And Tony obeyed automatically, but said, "I'm gonna go now. Thanks for—"

"Stay."

"But I'm not drunk," Tony protested.

"No, but you are exhausted." Gibbs pointed down the hallway. "Go. Sleep."

Tony looked down the hall and was suddenly reminded of another night, years ago, when he had stayed at Gibbs' place because he couldn't be alone, for fear that his lungs would simply forget how to breathe. All of those hours before he was released from the hospital, all of the uncertainty, the gasping what he knew could be his last painful breaths, came rushing back at him for the hundredth time that night.

But now, along with those came memories of Kate and Ducky, McGee and Gibbs being right there with him through the hacking and the blood, the pain and the fear.

Tony looked up at Gibbs and wasn't surprised to find Gibbs watching him with an incredible depth of understanding.

"I'm kind of an idiot sometimes, Boss," he said softly.

Gibbs' eyes held an amused twinkle as he reached up and smacked the back of Tony's head. "Nah," he said. "You just needed a wake-up call."


End file.
